Raggedy Rory
by LawyerGirl1
Summary: "Earnest eyes. Eyes that can never reveal or plot or strategise; anybody who looks in them deep enough, will be able to know what she is thinking. It's an advantage in some fields, but not in journalism." Musings of Mitchum. ROGAN. Please R&R!


**Raggedy Rory**

She looks like a ragdoll. It's not the effect she's going for, but it's the effect she's got.

I study her through the window, watching her move around her desk with self-conscious dignity. Thin wrists in striped blue shirt, slender legs in a pair of jeans, long hair in a schoolgirl cut and earnest eyes. Eyes that can never reveal or plot or strategise; anybody who looks in them deep enough, will be able to know what she is thinking. It's an advantage in some fields, but not in journalism. (Or in politics, I think, parenthetically.)

My son is absolutely besotted with her, but that'll pass. Crazy fancies and unsuitable crushes always do. I know. I've had enough crazy fancies and unsuitable crushes myself; I've always thought he inherited that trait from me. (Jennifer with her auburn curls and throaty laugh, the knotted plaid shirt she'd so easily discard ... And little Laura, the gardener's girl, who thought she could sleep her way into the social status she craved; for a summer, she'd almost succeeded ... Oh, and dearest Kelly at the nursing home in her pinstriped candycane outfit ...)

I force my mind to the subject at hand, leaving the romantic reverie for a more suitable moment. Logan thinks the business is all that is planned and plotted for him. Foolish, really. I'm not the only one to think he has a touch of JFK in him, that open smile which promises so much while giving so little ... yes, the combination of his native charm and wit with the Huntzberger money will create a wonderful campaign platform. Of course, the papers cannot be seen to be too biased – a little careful criticism must be mentioned here and there. But it'll be soft arrows, easy to deflect.

'Heir Huntzberger a playboy', for instance, referencing 'an old friend' detailing Logan's Casanova way. (Probably Colin or that idiotic Australian boy, spilling their secrets while deep in their cups.) And a tabloid or two with pictures of him and his college-aged floozies. And Logan's charming response, a normal 'I've settled down with my wife and she is the fiercest joy I've ever known'. Or something inane to that effect. America loves a reformed sinner. And politicians are almost expected to have charming vixens in vicuna coats tucked away in their closets. JFK is, after all, also remembered for Marilyn.

But the wife. Wives are crucial to a politician's success; this was recognised before the suffragettes started burning their bras. The smile that never looks fake, the unwavering devotion to her husband's career, her charisma and gentle way with important guests ... the loving niece to older ambassadors, always ever-so-interested in their stories; the enigmatic siren to her peers; the gossipy girl's girl to the wives of senators and congressmen; the stylish simplicity that young girls will aspire to. Yes, it must the right Jackie to complete the picture. A poised, stylish, intelligent young woman who is a campaign draw in her own right. Look at Barack and Michelle. She's getting as much limelight as he is and who doesn't feel just a little better knowing that that feisty, fit lawyer has the ear of the Chief Executive?

Of course, America does love a good 'rags-to-riches' tale. The daughter of an innkeeper who worked her way through a prestigious prep school, graduated valedictorian and entered the hallowed Ivy League halls ... I shake my head imperceptibly. It didn't really happen that way; it wasn't all grit and determination on little Rory's part. She works hard, all right, nobody can share an office with her and not notice it. But there was family money behind her, family money to bolster her dreams and create her future. Without her family money, there would be no Chilton, no valedictorian speech, no Yale. No. If she'd managed Chilton and Yale without the family money, she would've been perfect for the politician's wife, drawing a few sympathetic votes for the plucky can-do attitude.

I stare out the window again. Try as she might, little Raggedy Rory in her K-mart heels will never be a Jackie or a Michelle. At best, she's a Helen Gandy. A pretty porcelain doll playing house in her striped blue shirt and jeans. No style icon, this child, no fierce opinion on education or health reforms or childhood obesity that'll get America to sit up and take notice. She'll play the loving niece to perfection, but we'll all feel that Logan installed a child-bride in the White House.

No.

I have a meeting with the staff at noon. I'll have to discuss this with her then.

I'm sure she'll do something during the meeting that'll justify me firing her.


End file.
